


The Falling Cease

by xraelynn



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Post-Episode: s07e02 Amor Fati
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 15:57:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13861095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xraelynn/pseuds/xraelynn
Summary: A short vignette, post-"Amor Fati." I want to check your stitches, she says.





	The Falling Cease

I want to check your stitches, she says.

His stitches do not need checking — his doctor has, in fact, just inspected the sutures himself — but he craves her touch as much as she needs to feel his skin thrumming beneath her fingers. He nods once and moves closer to her; for a brief second she misses his leer, his innuendo, the joke he might have made about mummies, or Humpty Dumpty put together again. But she sets her jaw against this kind of thinking; she has no time for missing him now, not when he sits alive in front of her, almost well, almost more than she has dared to hope.

He sits and she stands; they become opposites, as always, she thinks. Her fingers want to tremble as she reaches for his bandages and she allows them this small comfort, knowing that he has closed his eyes and will not see.

He shivers but does not flinch when her fingers brush against his skin. I need to put on gloves, she murmurs as she pulls reluctantly away.

His voice is loud in the small space. No, he says, startling them both. Please. She considers the implied threat in the sound of latex snapping against skin, the implicit warning of violation and violence that might follow.

OK, she says softly. Let me wash my hands.

When she returns he is still sitting with his eyes closed, his body swaying slightly in a disquieting rhythm. His beautiful mind, her mind hisses in an echo that seems to fill the whole room. She calls his name and his eyes fly open.

I'm sorry, she says. I didn't mean to startle you.

You didn't, he says, and she finds herself mesmerized by the rise and fall of his shoulders, the small thrill of life in his eyes when he looks at her.

Are you ready? she asks as she steps closer. He nods and she savors the sound of his breath as it enters the room.

Her own breath is sharp and catches in her throat as her hands gently probe at the staples in his skull. God, she says, forgetting her vow to keep her anger private.

I don't understand, she murmurs. Why did they save you?

He opens his eyes slowly, as if coming awake.

You're the one who saved me, he says.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally written and published in 2006.
> 
> The title is taken from the poem "For the Anniversary of My Death," by W.S. Merwin:
> 
> Every year without knowing it I have passed the day  
> When the last fires will wave to me  
> And the silence will set out  
> Tireless traveler  
> Like the beam of a lightless star
> 
> Then I will no longer  
> Find myself in life as in a strange garment  
> Surprised at the earth  
> And the love of one woman  
> And the shamelessness of men  
> As today writing after three days of rain  
> Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease  
> And boding not knowing to what


End file.
